Alternate Eragon?
by Windspeck
Summary: Also named The Adventures of Ernie and Murphy. A re-telling of Eragon with badly disguised parody OC's, plus some sparkling vampires. I'm not sure if it belongs here or on Fictionpress. If this is in the wrong place, please kindly tell me!
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_Since every damn book has one._

It was a cloudless summer night in the Soskeialsidoaak Woods. The moon shone brilliantly like an Elfin-made silver plate in the middle of the velvety black sky, surrounded by its usual consort of scintillating constellations. Two tall, dark figures rode in a swift pace among ghostly trees, their profiles concealed by thick branches.

Their horses made no sound at all, and no creature stirred in the deathly silence. After a considerable amount of going around in circles, passing the same ugly knotted oak tree over and over again like some sickly deja vu, one of them finally stilled his horse.

"Sister," he said, in a tinkling voice reminiscent of bells and other musical instruments, "we're lost."

"Shut thy mouth and keep going," replied his sister. Her voice, too, sounded beautiful.

"But…we're lost! Really, surely, hopelessly, absolutely, definitely, undeniably, unquestionably…lost!"

"Shut thy mouth and do as I say. Keep going! Or thou shall never taste chocolate again," replied his sister.

The thought of chocolate made the brother's mouth water. In fact, if not for the darkness, he would have been seen drooling. He wiped his mouth with an intricately embroidered sleeve and shook his head.

"But please, Sis! We can't go on anymore. Tabby is tired too."

"Since when did thou name thy horse Tabby?" said the sister, suddenly stopping. "That is not an Elvish name! What is more, that sounds like the name of a cat!"

"Well…you named him Josoallosciarrinus when you gave him to me, and I can't really pronounce that all the time. Plus, Tabby sounds…cute."

"Thou art such a shame on the House of Hisaphoddamiarino."

"Can't you stop saying 'thou' and 'thy'? You're driving me crazy, Sis! Just because we're Elves in some epic medieval fantasy doesn't mean we have to talk like…like…some stupid old poetry! The readers won't understand you!"

The sister shook her head and sighed. Sometimes she wondered if she was really related to this pointy-eared idiot. Well, she was pointy-eared too, but she was not an idiot.

"So…where are we?" the brother asked hopefully, after a while of trotting. Tabby walked on, oblivious of his surroundings, but Kiallanolisoratis, the sister's horse, suddenly raised her ears in alert.

"Hush," snapped the sister. Something, or someone, stirred in the nearby bushes, disrupting the thick, oppressing silence.

"You're mean, Sis," replied the brother, pouting, completely unaware of the poison dart behind his neck…well, it was in his neck now. He fell off his horse with a thump. Tabby whinnied in surprise, resulting in a poison dart in his neck, too. Tabby fell with another thump.

"Who the hell art thou?" shouted the sister, raising her right hand in preparation for a spell. "Show thyself, coward!"

"Put your hand down, and no one will get hurt," replied a rough, grating man's voice from somewhere above the nearby tree. Dammit, that was the stupid knotted oak.

"My brother is already hurt," replied the sister furiously in her ringing voice.

'Nah, that's just tranquilizer. He'll wake up tomorrow morning with a pretty bad headache and no memory of tonight's venture, but he'll be safe. Don't worry about him. Worry about yourself—hand me that…thing in your bag. Or I really will kill you."

The sister flung her hand towards the voice's origin, shooting a green bolt of energy. There was a dull smack where the bolt hit its target, a string of curses and ruffle of leaves as the target fell, and a loud, disturbing crack when the target hit the ground and broke several bones, followed by another string of curses.

"Gotcha! Go baby, go baby, yeah, yeah, go baby! Who's awesome? I'm awesome! I am! Go baby!" exclaimed the sister in delight, completely forgetting her medieval style of speech. As she was happily singing to herself, her voice like melting honey, warm and sweet and—okay we get it!—something hit her in the back of the head, knocking her out alongside her unconscious brother.

"What a pair of morons," muttered the man who just fell out of the tree. His clothes were bloodied, but his body was without a scratch, completely healed from the bone-breaking fall in just a few seconds. He grinned maliciously, showing sharp, gleaming white fangs where normal canine teeth should be. His eyes were a bloody crimson, and his long hair a deep, raven black as impenetrably dark as the night sky…no, darker than the sky, since there's a moon in the sky and he didn't have a moon in his hair. That would be gay. Anyway, what was most unsettling about this man was his skin—deathly, paper white, without a tinge of redness and…did I see sparkles? His skin was sparkling like white marble? Holy holmium, he's a vampire!

Waving his hands in the air, the vampire summoned his minions, a group of extremely ugly, stinky, slimy, disgusting, unpleasant, repulsive, horrible Orcs and Ogres. They chortled nastily at the sight of the two elves slumped on the forest floor, their beautiful, elegant bodies splayed in strange angles—wait, that sounded kind of inappropriate. Anyway, the vampire called to several of the strongest Ogres to carry the brother away, which in reality was quite unnecessary as even a fully grown Elf male weighed less than the average anorexic schoolgirl. The brother shifted his head a little as the vomit-inducing reek of the Ogres penetrated his nasal cavity, but did not wake up.

The vampire walked to the sister and fumbled in her bag of belongings. He knew it was tremendously impolite and disrespectful to look into a lady's bag like this, but he was a vampire, which meant he was dead and sterile and unable to comprehend gender relationships and differences. So he picked up the bag and looked inside. Lipstick, eye shadow, a mirror, a couple of brushes, mascara, eyeliner, a leather pouch filled with gold coins—mm, delicious money!—and an Elvish copy of some feminist magazine, with her name, Arnaimisarirmethusa, written on the first page. The vampire wondered why in the world a feminist would carry such a large amount of make-up. A parchment pack of tissue paper, a miniature painting of a handsome Elfin man, contact lens fluid—so her eyes were not really that green!—a notebook scribbled in Elvish with what looked like calculations, a quill, a bottle of ink, a magical calculator, and a diamond necklace.

Where was the Plot Device? The golden egg he came to look for? He shrieked a blood curdling shriek that would send shivers down the spine of a lion, and emitted yet another string of curses so offensive that even several Orcs blushed. He threw the bag to the ground and trampled it, kicking the make-up and the ink into a disgusting brown sludge in the mud. He pocketed the money and the diamond necklace, and signaled for several other Ogres to pick the Elfin lady up. He would question her quite intensively, using torture if necessary, to find out where she had sent the Plot Device, that one very last Dragon's egg.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_In which our brave, wonderful hero of pure good finds out he's special._

Ernie was out hunting in the woods below the Terror Mountains. People usually don't go there because of rumors of ghosts, but Ernie was brave enough to ignore those. The trees appeared unnatural, and for a while he did think of ghosts, white and shimmering and wicked. He pushed that thought out of his head. The sun was almost setting now, and the forest was getting dark soon. He needed to hurry.

So, while, the other boys were playing ball, bragging to each other, or flirting with girls, he was out hunting on this late afternoon, bringing meat to his family. He spotted a deer, and loaded his bow, aimed, and—

THWACK.

Something round, hard and heavy fell from the sky and hit him in the head. He was immediately knocked out.

When he woke up, it was already late into the night. He found a large, painful swell on his head, and a buzzing in his ears. He looked around, for a while, searching for the deer, only to see his arrow embedded in a tree straight ahead. He remembered getting hit in the head, and looked around for the culprit.

Sure enough, it lay peacefully beside him, a perfectly smooth oval of pure gold. It was about the size of a two-month-old puppy, and weighted as much as an adult golden retriever. He was surprised that it did not kill him, or give him any lasting mental damage.

He ran his hand over the frictionless golden surface, feeling its at the same time metallic and gem-like luster with his skin. Something stirred within him, a feeling so familiar yet he could not name, as he made physical contact with the oval stone, which he identified as the egg of something special. It took him a moment to remember that the feeling was hunger. His stomach growled. He wanted an omelet.

_No, not now._ He thought to himself. He looked around, and saw no one in his vicinity that could have hit him with it. But then, if this person was somewhere around him, he would not really stick around until the victim wakes up.

So Ernie put the egg in his sack and carried it home. He was otherwise empty-handed, with no meat whatsoever, but this would have to do. His head hurt more than that hangover that morning after drinking two bottles of cheap whiskey at Bobby's house.

Home was the tiny wooden cabin at the edge of the village. The door opened and he was greeted by Uncle Moe, his uncle. Cousin Joe was sitting in a chair, eating corn.

"So, how's your hunting trip?" asked Joe, his mouth full. A few flecks of corn flew out of his open mouth and he picked them off the table and stuffed them back in.

"Painful," replied Ernie. Uncle Moe shook his head at the apparent absence of meat.

"I told you not to go. We needed your help weeding," he said.

"Uh-huh. But I found…this!"

Ernie took out the golden egg and its brilliant light filled the shabby room. Joe's eyes gleamed as he reached for it, wanting to touch the thing. Ernie smacked his hand jealously. "Mine," he snapped.

Uncle Moe stared at it curiously for a few seconds, and then turned his attention elsewhere. "Sell that thing next week when the Traders come. And hide it. You don't want those boys next door to get their filthy hands on what you found."

Ernie nodded, and, intentionally ignoring Joe's envious face, went into his room and tried to hide the egg. He found a loose floorboard. With a wench he tried to pry it open, and the floorboard went flying into his face, knocking him out again.

Next time he woke up, it was already morning. Sunlight poured in from the dirty cracked window and onto his face. His whole body felt sore, and he realized he had been sleeping on the floor, with a broken floorboard as a pillow. The swell in his head felt a little better now, but his lips were swollen this time like fat pink sausages.

But that was not important. The egg, he realized, was gone.

He immediately jumped up, knocking over a chair, groaned as his joints hurt like he had arthritis, and ran outside. After a while's searching, he found Joe hiding behind a pile of hay in the barn, giggling nonsense to himself. The egg sat in his lap, which he stroked lovingly like a mother would a child.

"My pressssciousssss," Ernie heard him say. It was very, very creepy.

"Give that back. It's mine, not yours, Joe," Ernie said firmly, reaching out to take the egg.

"No. My pressssciousssss, not yourssss pressssciousssss." Joe hissed back, hugging the egg close to himself. There was an odd gleam in his eyes, like that of a person high on crack.

"Give it back, you idiot. I found it. I promise to give you a gold piece after I sell it, but for now, it's completely mine." Ernie was already getting a little freaked out by Cousin Joe's abnormal behavior.

"Not yourssssss. _Mine_. My pressssciousssss. Ernie can't sssssteal my pressssciousssss."

Ernie walked closer to his cousin, threateningly close, ready to use violence if Joe did not give back the egg. But as he did, he tripped on a bug, and fell painfully on his sore, swollen face and his wiener lips. Joe laughed creepily in delight. Goosebumps began to form on Ernie's back, tiny lumps of flesh protruding from his skin like mounds of earth made by worms…did I just describe his goosebumps? Ew.

Something else laughed in the background. Har, har, har.

"Who's there?" shouted Ernie.

"Your goddamned author," the laughing voice replied. Joe continued to stroke the egg, his eyes disturbingly full of love and desire.

Ernie pushed himself up and jumped onto Joe. The two brawled like testosterone-charged bears at mating season, punching, scratching, kicking, slapping, and biting each other madly. The egg rolled out of Joe's hands and landed on the floor with a puff of dust. The dusty floor cracked yet the egg did not suffer even a single scratch, and both boys ignored it. Finally, Ernie managed to gain an upper hand on his cousin, sitting triumphantly on the back of a writhing, screaming, pleading Joe.

"My pressssciousssss," whimpered Joe, after a whole minute of squirming and shrieking.

"Not yours. Mine. Mine. If you like it so much you can touch it once every day, but it's mine to keep. Mine. Did you hear me? MINE!" said Ernie.

Joe whimpered again, and made a sound like "yes".

Ernie let Joe go and stood up, tripping over his boots on the way and falling again. Joe took the chance to pounce on Ernie, but Ernie was quick to grab the egg and knocked Joe in the forehead with it.

"Phew."

"Who said that?" Ernie shouted again.

"I just told you. I'm your author, stupid."

"What's an author?"

"That's God to you, kid."

"Can you tell me what this thing is?"

"It's an egg. You know that."

"But an egg of what?"

"That, my child, you'd have to find out for yourself."

And the Author was silent.

Ernie left Joe in the barn and picked up the egg, quickly hiding it under the loosened floorboard in his room.

Days passed uneventfully, although the longing look in Joe's eyes never disappeared. Occasionally Joe came frighteningly close to finding out the egg's hiding place, but mostly he just hissed and mumbled miserably to himself when no one was watching. Once he actually found the loose floorboard, wrenched it open, and began kissing and hugging the egg with gusto, but as soon as Ernie went into the room Joe stopped. And the Author never talked again.

The Traders came. Ernie managed to slip away unnoticed with the egg that day, because he already made up his mind he wanted to hatch it to see what it was. Ever night he only slept after ensuring the egg was at least as warm as he was in its blanket, and by day he checked on the egg frequently when he was resting from work. Sometimes the egg trembled. Mostly it lay still.

One night, as Ernie was going to sleep, he felt the egg shake more violently than ever. It's hatching! He thought, and placed the egg on the floor, sat down and watching it intently. The egg shook again, and after a few agonizing minutes of silence, a small crack appeared on the golden shell.

The crack grew, and split, and a tiny hole appeared. The egg shook again, and the hole widened as flakes of shell were pecked away. Soon, the hole was large enough for a head to emerge, a tiny, ivory head with bright unblinking golden eyes that made up a third of the head's surface.

The eyes studied Ernie with curiosity as the rest of the body emerged. It was a dragon—now that Ernie finally realized—and it was absurdly adorable. Its tiny wings with its thin, translucently bluish membrane were still wet, and its white, scaled body was out of proportion with its head so it stumbled forward clumsily as it tried to walk. Ernie picked it up, felt a fluttering in his stomach that was not hunger, and the dragon spoke, in a little girl voice.

"Are you the idiot or the pervert?" it said.

Ernie was surprised it talked, and even more surprised of what it said as its first sentence. He half expected the dragon to call him Daddy.

"What?"

"You're the idiot, then," said the cute little dragon. "Is that your brother, the pervert? He was touching my shell all over and I couldn't do anything about it," it shivered. "It's horrible."

"I'm sorry. That's my Cousin Joe. He's been a bit weird lately."

"Can I eat him when I'm older? I can only drink eggs and milk now, but later, when I'm bigger, and when I have big fangs, and…"

"No. He's my family," said Ernie.

"Aw, darn."

That night Ernie couldn't sleep. He stole a few eggs from the kitchen and fed the tiny dragon, which lapped it hungrily. He tried to have a conversation with it, asking it about how it was like being a dragon, but it couldn't reply much. All it said to him was, "Did you know anything when you were my age? From what I can see, you couldn't even talk until you were two years old."

"Oh, and," said the dragon towards nowhere, "You should really stop calling me 'it', now, Author. It's god darn insulting, you know. I'm a girl. Do you want to be referred to like some mindless animal that's so unimportant even gender is not worth mentioning?"

"Sorry, ma'am," said the Author.

"I also need a name." she continued. "You don't mind being called 'the Author', but I sure as heck don't want to be called 'the dragon' for the rest of the story. Name me."

"Um…can Ernie do it?"

"No. He looks too stupid for that."

"Hey, I'm not stupid!" defended Ernie, gesticulating to make his point more valid. His hand knocked over the bowl of eggs he set on the table, which crashed into his head, covering his face with sticky yolks and whites. "Never mind," he muttered.

"Well…How about Bella?" said the Author.

"Ew."

"Daisy?"

"What?! I'm a god darn dragon, and you want to name me Daisy?"

"Um…Tabby?"

"Wasn't that the Elfin horse? Oh wait, I'm not supposed to know that."

"Folasieoallsingoralsta."

"D'you really think that idiot can pronounce that?"

"I give up."

"Oh, crap. I suppose you're a human too, aren't you, Author? Those darn walking things are all stupid as heck."

"Whatever."

"So…am I to name her?" said Ernie hopefully.

"Uhh, I guess so," said the baby dragon. "Don't say anything stupid, though."

"Destiny Aurelia Aurora?" Ernie suggested, wiping eggs off his face with a dirty shirt he picked up from the floor.

"Hey, I like that name," said the dragon, and she extended a wing in guise of a hand. "Wanna be friends?"

"Friends? I was expecting something like Dad, or at least Big Brother…"

"No way. You're way too dumb for that, even though you gave me a good name. So, friends or not? I'll grow up really big and I can help you with whatever the Author wants you to do."

"Sure, then, I guess," said Ernie. And he took her wing and shook it as an agreement.

It was already past midnight, and Ernie was too tired not to fall asleep. Destiny was tireless, though, and curiously climbed around the room, looking at everything. At first she was clumsy, but soon learned to coordinate her muscles and became agile as a cat, silently exploring her surroundings.

In the morning Ernie woke up fresh, his mind completely clear, even though his face was sticky and stank of eggs. Destiny was waiting impatiently at the windowsill, wanting to go out and hunt for more solid foods such as insects, grubs, and McGuffins. Wait, I mean McMuffins. Wait, I mean…oh, never mind.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_In which the violence begins. Oh, horror!_

Days passed without much excitement. Uncle Moe asked Ernie what happened to the egg, and he told him he sold it. Uncle Moe then asked what Ernie did with the money, and he told him he spent it all on exotic foods and expensive whiskey to share with Bobby and the other boys. Uncle Moe threatened to beat Ernie with a stick, and Ernie threatened that the Author will kill Uncle Moe if he did. Uncle Moe did not really understand what Ernie meant, but left him alone anyway.

It was summer, so there were many insects and small mammals in the woods for Destiny to hunt, and for a while, all was calm. After repeated failure at finding the egg, Joe finally gave up and devoted his attention back to the village girls like a normal boy would. Ernie was happy, and the Author did not bother anyone.

Destiny learned to fly. She was as big as a golden retriever now, and occasionally brings home a dead rat or bird after hunting. Ernie refused those, and, raising her wings in the dragon equivalent of a shrug, Destiny ate them, all bloody and raw, before Ernie's face. She also caught an eagle that day, which she released, because a predator of the sky did not taste as good as a prey of the sky.

So you think everything's going good, huh? Guess what, you're wrong! One day, two shadowy figures rode into the village on pure black horses with white iris-less eyes, asking if anyone had seen a golden Plot Device, uh, I mean, egg. Oh my, I wonder what would they want? Surely they cannot be sent by the bad guy, the evil king known only as Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom, to look for poor, innocent Ernie because he found a dragon?

But they were. One of them, a short, plump one with a greenish face like he was about to puke, found Bobby's father, Robobob.

"Have you seen this person?" he asked, holding up a picture of Ernie. It was badly sketched, and looked like something out of a failed cartoon. Ominous music played in the background, a deep vibrating bass resonating in the air.

"Is that something out of a failed cartoon?" replied Robobob, shaking his head. "Nope, never seen it. I'm too old for cartoons. Plus, this is medieval fantasy. We don't even have television!"

"Quit trying to be funny," said the other shadowy figure, this one taller, paler, not as green but still kind of creepy. "His name is Ernie. Somehow people in this world don't have last names, but still, he's Moe's nephew and Joe's cousin. Are you sure you've never seen him?"

Robobob shook his head again, then nodded, because he did not know which action meant he had not seen Ernie, and the tall, shadowy figure gripped his collar.

"I can kill you just like that, old man, so you better listen up. We have evidence that this boy," the short one poked the picture, "has stolen our property, a highly dangerous Plot De- uh, creature capable of massive destruction. We also have evidence that he and your son, Bobby, are friends, and have gotten wasted together. So you better tell me where this brat lives, or you will never see your son again."

Robobob was shocked and, after an excruciating minute, pointed east. "He lives in that house over there," he said. "I'm sure as hell he doesn't have a dangerous animal, otherwise his family and neighbors would be dead, but still…"

The tall shadowy figure laughed, and stabbed Robobob in the heart with a blade of cursed metal so black even the sun did not reflect upon it. Thus, he caused the unnecessary death of a minor character.

"What the fuck did you kill me for?!" Shouted Robobob as he descended the ladder into the World of Characters that are No Longer Needed.

"So we can see how cruel the Bad Guys are," replied the Author. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm sure I can find you a place in my other fantasy story. Would you like to be a bio-mechanical troll, or a divorced, bankrupt clown?"

Robobob grumbled, and went to sit down on one of the padded seats. The entire place was empty, although the Author promised Robobob that soon there will be other people. A ghostly waitress gave him a cup of coffee. He was soon joined by Uncle Moe, Ernie's uncle, confused and defiant at the Author's decision. But later, they enjoyed coffee together and relaxed, for the World of Characters that are No Longer Needed offered everything for free, including waffles and a five-star hotel.

Meanwhile, Ernie was somewhere else in the village. He was at the house of Brown, the old storyteller. Brown was extremely intelligent and knew a lot of things, and was really, really old, but no one believed anything he said because people in that village were just dense like that. Ernie was not. Ernie had _questions_ for Brown.

"Knock, knock!" he said loudly, as he knocked the door. It swung open and hit Ernie in the face really hard. Ernie fell on his back, hitting the back of his head too. It was very painful.

"Oops, sorry 'bout that," apologized Brown apologetically, as Ernie massaged his throbbing head.

"I want to ask you something," said Ernie.

"Hush, boy," warned Brown cautiously. "Come in," he whispered quietly. "There's evil in this place."

"Um, sure." Ernie followed him into his house. There were only two rooms, one full of magically-looking graphs, maps, books, bottles, things, food, gadgets, and such. The other room was a bathroom.

"Now, what is your question?" inquired Brown questioningly.

"Well, this totally had nothing to do with me, but let's assume that a friend of mine found something, which for now I'll assume is an egg, which hatched into a, well, let's assume it's a dragon-ish creature, and suppose my friend has totally no idea what to do with it. Suppose that he asked me what to do with said creature. What would I answer him?"

"This_ is_ about you, isn't it?" deduced Brown correctly.

"It's not."

"Yeah, it is."

"No it's not!"

"Yeah, it is."

"Is not!"

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Is not."

"Is too!"

"I just made you say 'is too'," commented Brown triumphantly.

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, it is."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is no—just answer my damn question!"

"Admit it is you first, then I'll answer your question," responded Brown responsively. Wait, responded responsively? That's just overkill.

"It's not about me, I swear! I don't have an ivory-scaled and golden-eyed dragon named Destiny who is a brat and who can fly and who comes from nowhere! I swear I don't!"

"Okay, that's just _way _too suspicious," remarked Brown skeptically.

"ALL RIGHT, I ADMIT IT! Now can you answer my question? What the hell am I supposed to do with a dragon?"

"Well, let me just tell you a story," revealed Brown expressively. "Once upon a time, there was this bunch of people, who were really, really powerful, called the dragon riders."

"Oh, oh, let me guess," said Ernie excitedly. "Did they ride pretty pink unicorns?"

"Um, no. They rode dragons. Anyway, there was this guy, who was a dragon rider, who was good, but who was kind of dumb, whose dragon got, well, killed. I told you the guy's kind of dumb…"

"Ooh, I know where the story's going! Did this guy turn into a zombie?"

"Um, no. He didn't turn into a zombie. Anyway, this guy, after getting his dragon killed, went to the other dragon riders, and got totally laughed at because now he can't ride anything besides a broomstick that can't fly, so he went depressed and then psycho and then evil and he wanted to kill the other dragon riders who can ride dragons…"

"I got it this time!" interrupted Ernie. "Let's see, after that he married the beautiful princess and lived happily ever after, right?"

"Um, still no. Quit interrupting me. He managed to kill the dragon riders by stealing another guy's dragon, so he became the Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom…"

"Did he…"said Ernie.

"No! Can't you let me finish? Now Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom wants to be the only dragon rider in the entire world of Fantasyland, so when he found eggs he stored them in his Dark Gothic Castle of Evil and Doom, and killed anyone who came in contact with the eggs, until one day an egg got stolen by the Alliance of Good Guys, who passed the egg around different peoples of the Alliance of Good Guys in hope that one day it hatches and a new dragon rider comes to defeat Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom, but Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom sent some of his bad guys to take the egg back, and the egg disappeared, and we don't know who the new dragon rider is. Phew..." Brown was completely out of breath by this time, his face was blue, and he was hyperventilating.

Ernie blinked. Twice.

"This Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom you're telling me about…he wrote a book about pretty pink unicorns, right?"

"NO! Are you stupid? This guy is the Evil Overlord of Ultimate Evil and Doom, the Evil Emperor of Fantasyland, who does evil things such as making people pay taxes!"

"Oh...now I get it. Really. So…does that have anything to do with me?"

"Didn't you just find the egg and hatched the dragon? You're—"

"I know, I know! Don't give me the answer and spoil it! Let me guess one more time… I'm going get really, really rich and buy lots and lots of expensive stuff and invent electricity! Right?"

Brown sighed sorrowfully and facepalmed. This was going to be much harder than he thought.

"You, my child, are _the Chosen One_," declared Brown purposefully.

"I'm a what? I thought I was going to be a turtle rider!"

"No. You're the Chosen One. Did you realize that you have a voice out of nowhere talking to you?" demanded Brown inquisitively.

"Yeah. My imaginary twin, Gary. But I outgrew him last year. I'm a big boy now!" grinned Ernie proudly.

"No! Not that! Did someone start talking to you all of a sudden, a person known only as the Author?" questioned Brown curiously.

"Oh, that voice. Yeah. I do. I assumed that's God to you, kid."

"No. That's God to you, kid. You, not me. You. Anyway…this Author has chosen you to be a Protagonist," announced Brown positively.

"What's that…is it a type of fish?"

"No. You're the main character of a Story," explained Brown meaningfully.

"Ah, so that's what a Protagonist is…" said Ernie, scratching his head.

"Let me tell you this. There are three types of Authors: the Imaginative Creator, the Daydreaming Teenager, and the Moneymaking Pulpwriter. The first type are the best, who has well-developed characters and a great plot, so let's ignore that. The second type typically includes adolescents trying to fulfill their own delusional dreams by writing unoriginal Stories where the Protagonists are perfected versions of themselves. These are the luckiest Protagonists, even though people tend to hate them. The third type writes solely to earn money, without any regard to the quality of the junk he or she produces."

"So…who's my Author?"

"You are so very unlucky, my child, for your Author belongs to none of the above. Your Author, Ernie, is a Bored College Kid."

"What's that?"

But Brown has stopped responding. Someone's knocking on the door.

"Someone's knocking the door!" exclaimed Ernie, jumping up in surprise, knocking his head on the low ceiling, which made him fall sprawling to the floor.

"Quick, this way. Here's a tunnel that comes out at your house dug by a guy called Deus Ex Machina years ago. Go on. I'll meet you tonight on top of the Terror Mountains."

So Ernie jumped in the tunnel and came out at his house on the other end…only to find it burnt down, and Uncle Moe, his uncle, dead. He was killed by the two shadowy figures who failed to find Ernie and Destiny.

A single tear rolled down Ernie's cheek. He decided he would avenge Uncle Moe, his uncle, by killing those two shadowy figures. The Author was very happy because a plot, however unreasonable, was emerging. Ernie was very, very sad, because Uncle Moe, his uncle, was killed.

"Why couldn't it be me?" he cried, punching the burnt walls until his fists were bleeding. Ouch, that gotta hurt.

"Yeah, why couldn't it be you?" said Destiny somewhere.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, okay."

And Destiny grabbed Ernie and lifted him up. He was way too heavy, so Mr. Deus Ex Machina came and helped Destiny out a little and Destiny turned big and strong enough to lift Ernie after all. Ah, Mr. Deus Ex Machina…isn't he such a nice gentleman?

They flew over the woods, a vast, immense sea of intense, translucent green emerald canopy which rippled like waves in the violent torrents of wind, each single tree oscillating in its own rhythm, and towards the mountains, those snow-crowned peaks almost as elevated as the sapphire sky itself, sparkling like diamonds under the dazzling brilliance of the radiant sun. Ernie had never realized how breathtaking the world appeared from such a high altitude, and immediately thought of how minuscule he really was compared to the macrocosm of the universe. He was deep in philosophical thought, which definitely told the readers that he was extremely mature and wise for his age, and forgot about Uncle Moe, his uncle, very soon.

They landed in the snow, and Ernie thumped face-first into the ground really hard. Mr. Deus Ex Machina passed by, handed Ernie a sweater, and left to bring Brown the storyteller.

Ernie allowed himself a moment to be sad and vengeful about Uncle Moe, his uncle. Then he wept a single tear and slept, with Destiny covering him with her dazzling pale blue wing scintillating under the beautiful, bright sun. Destiny was dreaming of chasing fat juicy flying chickens. Ernie dreamed about…well, stay tuned for Chapter Three!


End file.
